


JFK/Vincent van Gogh (Oneshots)

by Bippity_Boppity_CinnaBonnie



Category: Clone High
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Clone High - Freeform, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, JFK is a himbo and we adore him, JFgogh, M/M, My First Fanfic, One Shot, Please protect Van Gogh, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Slight Description of Injury, Smut, Snuggling, Suicide Attempt, a lil angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26565535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bippity_Boppity_CinnaBonnie/pseuds/Bippity_Boppity_CinnaBonnie
Summary: Hey everybody! This will be a collection of oneshots revolving around JFK and Vincent van Gogh from Clone High. I will try and update weekly so please bear with me. I know there is a high demand for content of these two, that's why I am writing these!*Warning* There will be a lot of mentions of anxiety, depression, and other possibly triggering topics. I will put a warning at the top of each page about what topics are included. I love y'all and want to be considerate of your needs.Please leave suggestions about what you want to see next! I will write sexual themes as well as angst. Ultimately, I will decide if the prompt is appropriate or not.1. Prompt: JFK shows up at Vincents house after a fight and of course chaos ensues2. Prompt: Vincent and JFK have a little fight, Vincent runs off and gets hurt but decides not to tell JFK!3. Prompt: Vincent decides he is tired of hurting those he loves
Relationships: JFK/Vincent Van Gogh
Comments: 76
Kudos: 464





	1. Patch me up, pretty please?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfic and to be honest, it took a lot longer to write then I had expected it to! That being said, if you see anything done wrong please let me know! This ship is also not for everybody! So if you do not like it, do not read it! DO NOT REPOST MY WORK TO OTHER SITES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!!

Prompt: JFK shows up at Vincents house after a fight and of course chaos ensues 

Vincent pov:

I had painted my window for the first time a few weeks after my twelfth birthday. The theme has changed a few dozen times, same goes for the rest of my room. It is never perfect, ever changing, but it is comforting nonetheless. My own break from reality and one that I do not share with anyone. Even my foster parents rarely enter without a good reason. 

I've never really been put in a situation where someone would have to go in my room anyway. Friends? Yeah, I have a few peers I am close to but, from a young age we agreed to go to Buddhas place. He has the best snacks and a kick-ass media room. If we want excitement we go to the arcade or The Grassy Knoll.

“Well, someone has been in my room before” I mumble out loud. That someone being JFK. You see, I was walking home, quarter til midnight, from the mini-mart with a bag of snacks a couple months ago when I stumbled across a very drunk JFK half naked in a bush. I can't help the darkening of my cheeks as I recall the memory of JFK in nothing but his underwear. 

Listen he may be a dick but I care about the himbo! I had lured him back to my place with the promise of Cheetos and root beer. He spewed slurred nonsense for a few hours then passed out on my bed. A string of fairy lights hung above, illuminating JFK’s face with soft lighting. He was snoring loudly and honestly, I had expected as much. He was beautiful. Wait - no I mean - the scene was, um, beautiful! Who am I kidding? He IS beautiful. I had spent the next few hours painting him. I had to capture every detail before sleep consumed me. I'm not going to lie, I didn't want to lose the image of him asleep in my room. 

He was gone when I woke up in the morning and when we passed each other at school nothing was ever said. 

I feel even more alone now. These comforting walls have lost their spark. I will have to paint them this weekend. I sigh and tuck my knees up under my chin as I look at the dull painting of a duck in front of me. Bland color palette and sloppy brush strokes. You can barely tell what it is meant to be. 

“Vincent?” A soft knock on the door feels much louder than it really was. My soft sock covered feet pad over to the door and I creak the door open just enough to peer out at whoever it was. There stood my foster mom stepping lightly from foot to foot. She always looks on edge. Like she is always running from something. I smile the best I can. “Hey, um, what's going on?” She smiles back just as awkwardly “You have a visitor sweetheart, he looks a little banged up so I brought the first aid kit -” she hands me the rather large box and continues “- he is downstairs. I am going to my room so you two will have some privacy.” I don't miss the playful glimmer in her eyes as she adds that last part. My cheeks darken once again. 

Who could it be? I check myself in the mirror as I pass the bathroom. My hair is a mess and my eyes have large bags under them. My ear is wrapped the long way, as usual. I had showered a few hours ago so I am still in my far to o large blue hoodie that falls just above my knees, baggy grey sweats, and black socks. Good enough. I continue down the hall toward the stairs. I’m a little anxious as to who it could be and what my foster mom had meant by “banged up”. I cautiously step down toward the living room. I am a few steps from the bottom when I am able to see who it is. 

“JFK?” It came out just above a whisper. He was on the couch, his elbows sat on his knees and his head hung downward. He was in the usual candy cane striped shirt and khakis but they were covered in mud and ripped in a few places. He must have heard me because his head shot up like a bullet. I couldn't hold back the gasp that passed my lips as I saw the condition of his face. His bottom lip was busted and his left eye was swollen. Dried blood was splattered on his face and my stomach clenches as I wonder how many wounds are hidden by the crimson coloring, 

We stared at each other in silence for a long minute before I rubbed the back of my neck letting out an anxious giggle “Did you, um, win?” JFK blinked a couple times before letting out a hardy laugh, a giant smile spreading on his face. 

“Of course I did! what do you take me for Vinnie?” The tension from before melted away and I made my way down the stairs toward him. He stood up and met me halfway, just a step or two from the staircase. My heart beat sped up as I realized how much larger he was then me. He tilted his head as he looked down at me with an eyebrow raised. 

I was staring.

“Oh! We should take care of your . . . wounds” I stutter, gesturing wildly to his face and body. I turn and start heading up the stairs. 

“I -er, yeah okay” He follows me to my room. He walks in and flops down on my bed. As I close the door he says “You know you, uh, don’t have to do anything. I -er just needed somewhere to go while things settled at the Knoll.” Oh, of course he is just here to hide. No one would even think to look for him here.

My silence must have spoken for me because he quickly added “But I didn't just come here to hide, I -er wanted to thank you for awhile back.” He was looking away now. “

For what?” I prompt. He toys with the end of my blanket 

“For taking care of my drunk ass, you didn't have to.” I can’t help but roll my eyes at him. 

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave you naked in a bush for any trouble maker to find.” I sit down in the chair facing him. 

“You found me? I -er thought . . . never mind. Thank you either way.” His face is flushed. He looks so damn gorgeous. My eyes widen and the tension returns to the room almost immediately. The med-kit next to him looks very interesting right about now. I reach over and grab it. A shocked expression crosses his face as I do so. As I lean back and begin to open the box he almost seems, disappointed? I shake it off as I grab a handful of alcohol wipes. I stand up and step toward him. I give a small smile before stepping in between his legs. Even sitting down he is almost taller than me standing at full height! 

My left hand reaches up and cups his cheek. I can feel his stubble. I can feel the warmth of his skin below my fingertips. It is almost too much for me when he leans his head into the touch. My right hand shakes as I begin to dab at the caked on blood before focusing on his eye. I clean up the small cut under it and cover it with the smallest band-aid I could find. His eyes are closed and his body is relaxed. He looks like he is completely content with the world. 

I remove a small leaf from his soft brown hair. I want so badly to run my fingers through that styled mane. Me sitting on his lap, combing through his hair, and- “You, uh, alright there Vinnie?” I snap back to reality and realize I had been staring, again, right hand floating in the air for who knows how long.

I can feel my cheeks heat up and I clear my throat mumbling a quick “yes, my apologies.” 

My left hand moves from his cheek in favor of his chin. I tilt his head up ever so slightly and start to clean his chin and lower lip. I can feel his eyes piercing into me as I do so. I am trying to focus dammit! Once satisfied with my patch work I look his face over one more time. Our eyes lock.

“Is there anywhere else you are hurt?” Still locked on his eyes I can see his lips move in response. 

“Uh, no, they only got a couple good punches to my face. I -er tripped on my way here.” It explains the torn clothing and mud but, I don’t believe him for a second. However, I hold my tongue. 

“Okay” I whisper.

JFK smirks and my heart flutters. “Thank you Vinnie, I -er was wondering if there was, uh, anyway I could repay you for your kindness.” The world seems to freeze. 

I’m dreaming. I have to be! I must have gotten lost in my make believe again. I blink a couple times hoping to come back to reality. Instead, A concerned look comes across JFK’s face as he seems to be waiting for a response. So, not a dream then. Every bit of me feels like it is on fire. My mouth is suddenly dry and my breathing is quick and harsh. Oh god, this is real. 

I am standing in between JFK’s legs. I am holding his chin and my other hand is now grasping his shoulder. When did he put his hand on my hip!? 

“Vinnie? Hey are you -er okay?” He is waving his free hand in front of my face, trying to get my attention. He looks concerned. I love it. To be cared for. For him to look at me and me alone. To be selfishly the center of his attention. 

I’m a fool. JFK is popular, a ladies man. He wouldn’t date a loser like me. I never stand a chance. Maybe as a one night stand. An experiment? I couldn’t bear it. I can feel tears building and I start to shake. I know I am close to having a panic attack. My wrists are beginning to tingle in anticipation. I pull my hands to my chest, making sure my sleeves are pulled up out of habit. I need to get away from John. 

I stumble backward, plan set on running to the bathroom, locking myself in there, and withering away. However, before I can do so two large arms wrap around me pulling me forward. I’m flush against JFK. His face is tucked into my neck and his arms pin mine to my sides. The tears start falling and I can’t help the embarrassing whimpers that escape my lips. I bow my head and my legs become unsteady.

JFK shuffles backward further onto the bed, up against the wall, pulling me with him. He loosens his grip on me so I can make myself more comfortable. I wrap my arms around his neck and curl up on his lap like a cat. My head now tucked into the crook of his neck. I sob harder. My eyes clenched shut and I know tears and spit must be wetting his shirt but I can't stop. His grip around me tightens and I can feel him press his lips to my forehead.

I know I am a small guy, always have been but, I have never felt this fragile in my life. JFK is silent all the while. I’m sure he doesn’t really know what to say. He is rarely this quiet. I bet he will share this with all his pals. I will become the laughing stock of the school again. I bet Cleo will ruin his life even more so than it already is. This only makes me sob harder. 

I have no idea how much time has passed but my eyes are burning. There are no more tears to be shed. We sat there for a while longer, the only sound being my quiet sniffles. I am focusing on the deep beat of his heart, it calms me. I rise up and down with each breath he takes. If this is the sea, I will happily drown in it. 

As the tempest passes I am overcome with embarrassment. I mean, JFK came here seeking help and here hogging the attention. 

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks and I sink further into his arms. 

“Hey now, none of that. I mean it. I -er I’m sorry.” Silence settles thickly over us once again. I don’t know what else to say. Luckily, he speaks before I have to. “When I, uh, woke up here half naked and hungover I thought, hell yeah! I scored with some hot chick or something! Then I -er saw you curled up on the floor and I, uh, I thought I had tried to, you know, force you to do something.” He sounded almost afraid of what he was saying. He thought he had what? 

Wait, he thinks he- “Oh no! No, no, no, no, you didn’t do anything like that! I found you on my way home. I couldn’t just leave you there.” I held myself up with my elbows and looked JFK in the eyes. He didn't look convinced.

“John . . . I mean it.” That caught his attention. His ever expressive eyes filled with . . . love?

“Okay, I believe you. Actually -” his right hand raises to cup my cheek “I -er trust you Vinnie.” I put my knees on either side of him and sit up a little better. I reach up and rest my hand over his. His hand takes up the entirety of the left side of my face. I can feel a slight throbbing sensation where my ear is still healing years later. However, I am not self conscious of it now, instead, I feel safe and protected. 

His eye has blackened slightly but the swelling has gone down considerably. His lips are still swollen and I crave to lean forward and kiss them. He smiles at me and I find myself smiling right back. Butterflies boogie in my stomach. John shifts a little and suddenly his lips are on mine. 

The kiss is delicate. A stark contrast from the usually lustful tongue tug of war JFK initiates with hot girls in the school hallway. I kiss back hesitantly. I want this so bad but, does he? Or is this simply sympathy. He licks my bottom lip and the thought process dissolved immediately. I fail to even try and hold back the high pitched moan that rises in the back of my throat. I can feel his smirk before he licks into my mouth. I move my hands to his neck and up the back into his silky soft hair. I tug lightly and feel his breath hitch. After a few minutes lack of oxygen forces us to part. Both of us panting lightly.

The kiss was deep and loving. It screamed a million words and would be my inspiration for many paintings to come. We were smiling like fools, I suppose, we are. John laid us down facing each other and together we lay tangled together. His “cheese grating” abs and pecs felt like a firm pillow and I floated in a state of ecstasy as he held me close.

We have a lot to talk about. However, that can wait for the morning. For now though, I am happy to lay here in his warm loving embrace until the day I die. 

At some point in the night I swear I can hear a faint giggle from the doorway. For many foster parents walking into your foster sons room and seeing him intimately snuggled up with another man would give them a heart attack. For mine, it was a long awaited blessing. I feel just the same.


	2. What he doesn't know won't hurt him . . . right?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Vincent and JFK have a little fight, Vincent runs off and gets hurt but decides not to tell JFK!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Vincent and JFK have a little fight, Vincent runs off and gets hurt but decides not to tell JFK!
> 
> WARNING: Cursing, anxiety/depression, slight description of injury
> 
> (Smut in the next update for those who crave~)
> 
> Stay hydrated and make sure to have a snack, you deserve it! 
> 
> I LOVE Y'ALLS ART!!!! I beg you send me your work via instagram. My profile is bippity_boppity_cinnabonnie (Bonnie D! that's me!)
> 
> Also, If someone makes art of me personally, I will sob uncontrollably. 
> 
> THANK YOU GUYS!!!! MWAH!

Prompt: Vincent and JFK have a little fight, Vincent runs off and gets hurt but decides not to tell JFK!

Vincent Pov:

Now that I am spending every single moment obsessing over the memory, I am able to say with certainty that the whole ordeal was probably the most idiotic thing I have ever done. I mean, what on earth was I thinking! As I look down at the bright green cast cementing my right leg from the knee down. I am stuck in bed and unable to do much of anything. My hands are constantly fidgeting with something to relieve my pent up anxiety and boredom. 

Stupid. I was stupid. IT was stupid.

A few nights ago John called asking if I wanted to go to the movies. Of course, since I am in fact madly in love with the fool, I eagerly agreed. The night started off well. We went to the movies around six, went to Dennys for dinner, and then things dissolved into pure chaos. 

A couple nobody dudes from school showed up as we were handed our food. I thought nothing of it but, John apparently wasn’t too keen with their presence. John glared daggers and received a few himself. The lighthearted time soured and I became uncomfortable. 

I know John is popular. I know it adds another complicating level to our relationship but, I can’t deal with the big crowds and school drama. I am barely able to handle my own internal issues let alone the ever revolving doors of teen social life. When we first started dating a few weeks ago the whole school became a war zone. Cleo, of course, made my life a nightmare. However, at the end of the day, John would hold me and it would remind me that it’s worth it. All of it. Even, this stupid cast.

The time spent at dinner had practically no conversation from his end, simply an “ -er yeah” or an “ -er no” and that was that. When it was time to leave I walked up to pay at the register and suddenly commotion erupted behind me. John and the three guys were yelling at one another and were up in each others faces. 

Instantly, I attempted to pry John away from them. I grabbed his arm and pleaded with him that it wasn’t worth it and that we should head home. I was shocked when he turned his head toward me for no more than five seconds to scream “This ain’t got nothing to -er do with you. Go wait out in the car!” I tried to say something in protest but before I could he turned back, eyes wide, brows turned down in a furious fashion and through gritted teeth said “Now.”

He carried on with whatever argument was playing out with the guys like he hadn’t said a thing to me. Oh but he did. I felt numb as I walked out to the car. It was freezing and well past nine. I couldn’t tell. My cheeks burned and I knew I was crying. My mind replayed his face, the way he yelled at me. I know he gets angry and takes it out on anyone around but, dammit that hurt! What was I going to say or do when he came storming out here? Would he apologize and hold me until the sun rises? Would he be silent, a kindle of the prior flame? Did those guys strike a nerve too deep for even John to handle and he would come out crying himself? It is too much. 

I can’t do this. 

I was walking. I didn't even realize it until I was ten blocks away. I started to run. My anxiety bristled under my skin. Tears flowed from my already reddened eyes. My wrists screamed. I shook my head and kept running, trying to outrun my thoughts. I made it about a mile before collapsing in a patch of grass. 

The park. Except dark and eerie from lack of life and sunlight. I sat there for a long time. I could feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Most likely John. I can’t bring myself to check. Instead, I grab it out of my pocket and throw it into the river. Stupid choice really but, I wanted to be rid of it. Laying back I watched the stars for a bit. 

The Big Dipper was bright tonight.

Finally, the brisk night air sunk through my clothes and I knew I had to be heading home sooner rather than later. So, exhausted from the chaos I rose to my feet and started the journey home. I felt awful for leaving how I did. For not even sending a simple text saying “Hey big guy, wasn’t feeling good, made it home safely!” John would be freaking out by now. The poor guy is actually more emotional than people tend to believe. He was like a kicked puppy, probably wallowing in sorrow. 

I was so lost in thought that I hadn’t noticed someone was walking behind me. Only when I felt a hard object on my back and a gruff “Give me your wallet and anything valuable or I will shoot” did I notice, too late. I was frozen in place. I could hear the guy speaking but it was fuzzy and unregistable. The next thing I knew my wallet was gone and I was being tossed down a hill. My leg cracked as I stumbled down hitting it directly on a large rock. 

I must have passed out at that point because when I woke up the sun was just starting to peak over the valley, the sky engulfed in violet and orange. As an artist, I was mesmerized by the sight. The very panicked old lady kneeling next to me, not so much. 

She helped me sit up and when we realized my leg was far worse than a bruise she called for an ambulance. She was kind enough to ride with me to the hospital and allowed me to use her phone to call my foster mom. I never thought you could hear someone perish away over call but she proved me wrong. Within a few minutes of arriving at the hospital she was by my side. The old lady left promising to bring me some brownies later in the evening. 

Setting the leg back in place hurt like hell but, It wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated. Mom drove us home but not before stopping at McDonalds for hash browns. I vented about what happened and she insisted we go to the police station to file a report. So, we did. By then I was so exhausted that everything melted together. 

Home. I was home.

I slept for a good ten hours before the throbbing in my leg roused me from my slumber. I took my meds and painted the sky from that morning. The old lady did in fact bring brownies, they were delicious. Everything was relaxed, that is, until I recalled throwing my phone into the river. I begged Mom to buy me a new phone while she was at the store. She did but, I could see in her eyes that she was as nervous as I was to look at the messages. 

Twenty eight calls, fifteen voicemails, and one hundred and nine messages through a few different apps. Yikes.

I listened to the voicemails first. It was soul crushing to hear John grow more unsteady and upset with every message. The last couple sounded like he was out of breath from running and I could hear that he had been and was still crying. Stupid. I was stupid.

I was more stupid though at that moment becuase I decided, I can’t call him back. How would I explain everything? The messages were the same worries about where I was and if I was okay. There were a lot of apologies as well. I couldn’t call but, I needed to send at least a little something. So, I sent him a message that said “I’m okay. I forgive you, I’m not mad. Just need some time, okay?” That was that. 

The last couple days were spent in bed doing nothing but venting through art and self pity. John had messaged and called a few dozen times but, after a day they slowed tremendously. In fact, I don’t think he has sent anything today. I know it is my doing but dammit, I miss him. I. Miss. John. Tears built up in my eyes once more and I collapsed into my bed. I clung to my pillow and sobbed into the plush fabric. My leg screamed in protest but I ignored it. 

I heard faint knocking and my foster mom opening the front door. There was talking but I couldn't hear what was said. Soft steps went up the stairs and down the hall toward my room. I let out a loud sob, unable to stop myself in time, and the steps stopped. Suddenly, there were rushed pounding steps. My door swung open and I looked over my shoulder to see the one and only John F. Kennedy.

He was a mess. He was in his usual attire but they were wrinkled and his collar was up and wild. He looked tired. A single lock of hair was out of place, which for him, was terrifying. His mouth was open slightly. I knew I was in no better shape. I was wearing an oversized grey hoodie and loose baby blue shorts (the cast made most of my bottoms unusable for the time being). My hair was a mess and my bandage hadn’t been replaced in a day or two so the sides stuck up slightly. I hadn’t slept well so the bags under my eyes must have been bad enough to confuse someone for a black eye. Add some red blotches from crying and the shine of said tears and you have yourself a signature Van Gogh.

We stared at each other for a long moment before my embarrassment sunk in and I turned back into the already soaked pillow. I should’ve expected him to show up eventually but, I guess my mind was in another place. 

“You . . . your leg . . . WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR LEG?” John practically choked yelling. I sat up, still holding the pillow and leaned against the wall. I peaked over at him and realized that he had come closer. He now stood directly in front of me, a mear inch or two from the bed. I am just short enough to where my legs do not hang over the side of the mattress. 

He looks extremely upset. I can see bold concern highlighting every bit of his being. He was tense, his hands floated like he wanted to reach out and grab me but was hesitant to. It wasn’t a good look for him. I see the shine of his eyes. He was going to cry and it was all my fault. 

With a gulp I muttered a low “ ‘s nothing, I just fell on the way home a couple nights ago.” I was hoping that it would explain everything. However, when I looked up the concern was switched to more of a fear, almost, angry?

His hands floated and bobbed for a moment before he set one down on the bed and one gently down on my cast. He rubbed his thumb over the rough material. The tension left his body and he seemed to droop. Sad. He looked genuinely sad. Damn, I am seeing all sides of this gorgeous man today aren’t I?

“Vinnie . . . Vincent. I know that isn’t true. Your -er foster mom told me how badly it was broken. Practically shattered-” he was glaring at the cast “-and she -er said that you lost your phone.” He sighed deeply and looked up at me. His blue eyes looked like a winter wonderland full of so many emotions I couldn’t keep track of. “What -er what happened, really? Why . . . why did you leave?” He looked away as he choked back a sob with the last bit. 

His stutter and waver stung me worse that anything ever has. It was worse than losing my ear! I gasped. This has gone too far. Look at the love of my life practically sobbing over my own foolishness. I am an idiot. 

“John . . . UgH!” I yelled in frustration. He jumped then looked back up at me. Time for the truth. Go on Van Gogh, tell him!

“I was mad that you yelled at me! I was scared you’d still be mad at me and I was overcome with everything at once! I had to get out of there, I had to. SO I ran. I went to the park and threw my phone in the river because it was too much for me in the moment! I -I had the thoughts again, and I was scared I would act upon them-” I choked on my words before going on “-so I knew I had to get home but before I could. I . . . I was jumped.” I stopped to catch my breath. My ears were red and my eyes burned but there were no tears left to be shed. I looked up at John. His face was unreadable. He gestured for me to continue. 

Deep breath. “They had a gun. I froze and I -I couldn’t do anything. They gave me commands but my ears were full of cotton. They stole my wallet. Hit me a few times then threw me over a ledge . . . down a hill. My leg cracked on a rock. I passed out and woke up a few hours later. An old lady, Gertrude, called for help. Mom picked me up from the hospital.”

I held my head low in shame. I was so stupid.

The bed creaked and the mattress dipped as John crawled up on the bed next to me. He laid against the wall mirroring my position. His hand sat on my thigh. I had to force myself not to focus on how big it was compared to my small frame. 

“I’m sorry Vinnie. God I am so sorry.” Our eyes met. He was looking down at me with pleading eyes. His other hand raised up to hold my cheek as he continued. “Those guys are notorious assholes. They, uh, have caused a lot of trouble ‘round here lately. I -er didn’t want them to hurt you. Instead, I -er did it for them huh.” 

I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off when he sighed. “I was so worried about you when you -er weren’t in the car. I, uh, drove around for awhile. Called and messaged until my thumbs were numb. Stayed up waiting for anything until I dropped. When you finally messaged I could feel the pain. I knew I fucked up. Then, you -er didn’t show up at school. God Vinnie, I have been so worried about you. I know you like space when I am stupid like this so, I tried giving you -er just that.”

Stupid, he thinks he is- I started to giggle and then full on laughed. I leaned my forehead on his shoulder laughing. My hands grabbed his from my thigh and squeezed lovingly. The movement made my leg flinch. “You are not stupid John. I am. For running. For not calling. For everything. I am the idiot here Mr. Sexyface ” I looked up into his eyes. So blue. So beautiful. I leaned toward him. He got the message pretty quickly. 

Our lips clashed together in a tight kiss. We mumbled “No I am” as we peppered kisses over each other's lips and face. A lovers banter.

He laid me back onto the bed and crawled over me putting his knee between my thighs and using his left hand to prop himself up. That hand sat just next to my head. His other hand was slowly gliding up and down my side. I was so small compared to him. The kisses turned open mouthed and he sucked on my lower lip each time we parted. 

He shifted, moving from hand to forearm, as he lowered against me. The pressure of his body over mine was maddening. Not close enough. Not nearly close enough. I pushed my tongue out into the next kiss which, of course, was beaten immediately in favor of his licking into my mouth obviously savoring the contact. 

I moaned into the kiss and his right hand traveled down my side and hip. He slowly tugged my leg up to settle on his lower back. His thigh pressed into my crotch and I moaned at the delicious sensation. A jolt of pleasure struck my body making me flinch. 

“AH!” John shot up. His eyes widened and he searched my body quickly. My right hand clutched helplessly as my thigh. “Sorry! I just moved wrong, I’m okay.” I added as soon as I caught my breath. 

“Oh, thank god. Though I -er hurt you” He said laughing and running a hand through his hair. 

He moved carefully over my cast and laid down beside me pulling me into his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I tucked my head into the crook of his neck and took in his scent. Mud, flowers, and alcohol. A weird combination of earthy and sour. Fucking perfect. 

I missed this. I missed him. My hands clutched the front of his shirt and I rested my casted leg on the pillow I had left down there from before. He gave my forehead little kisses and at one point he started to toy with the hair at the nape of my neck. 

I moved back a little so I could look up at him. He looked right back. Sadness returned to his eyes. “Vinnie, I -er really am so so sor-” I cut him off with my pointer finger on his lips. I smiled with all the love I can and said for the first time. 

“I love you.”

His brows raised, and he looked in shock. A huge smile spread across his face and he began to kiss all over my face. “I *kiss* Love *kiss* You *kiss* so *kiss* Fucking *kiss* Much!” I was laughing trying to escape the onslaught of kisses. He pulled away still glowing. 

“Oh stop it, you are blinding me” I say playfully swatting at his chest. He just laughs. We both do. 

“So, you -er wanna watch a movie?” I look up at him and nod, still smiling. “Good, where’s your -er laptop? I can log in to my foster dads netflix and -” John carried on about shows he had yet to binge as he got up grabbing my laptop (he doesn’t need to ask where it is yet, he always does) and coming back to bed. We used my pillows to create a back cushion and left one out for my leg to prop on as we watch. 

I laid back onto his chest, in between his legs, laptop on my lap as we started to watch some documentary he claimed was better than “teen trash” and honestly, watching shrimp fighting each other really was. That was how we spent the rest of the afternoon. 

He wasn’t angry with me. I wasn’t angry with him. Both of us said our apologies. You see, we are not perfect, we have our issues. However, our love always overcomes. No matter the drama. No matter the personal troubles. We have each other. 

Plus, a few weeks stuck in bed means binge watching new shows, snuggling, and opportunity to use my cast to my advantage sounded very nice. I am sure my dearest JFK wouldn’t mind helping out his boyfriend in need after all.


	3. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING!!!!!  
> This is an angst with a happy ending! 
> 
> TRIGGERING CONTENT INCLUDES: Self-harm, detailed blood and self-harm activity, depression, anxiety, suicide attempt, hospital stay, ect.
> 
> Basically, it is detailed and sad so if you are easily offended or are sensitive to any of the triggers please skip this chapter. 
> 
> AUTHOR NOTE: I started writing these fics because I enjoy writing and use it as a media for me to express myself and my emotions in a healthier fashion. Some references are more personal and projections of myself. This goes for fluff, angst, and even smut. Please be understanding and respectful to not only me, but also your fellow readers. Follow/message me on Instagram anytime! I really enjoy hearing from you guys and loooooveee to see y'alls fanart! I really want to commission someone to create a Clone High style of myself for my profile photos. I love you guys! DRINK WATER, HAVE A SNACK, TAKE YOUR MEDS, AND PRACTICE SELF CARE TODAY YOU BEAUTIFUL CREATURES!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING WARNING  
> TRIGGERING CONTENT INCLUDES: Self-harm, detailed blood and self-harm activity, depression, anxiety, suicide attempt, hospital stay, ect.
> 
> Please do not read if these are triggering topics for you!
> 
> Prompt: Vincent decides he is tired of hurting those he loves
> 
> DO NOT REPOST my fics! It is great to be inspired by them! Share you pieces with me so I can read and share the love! And y'alls fanart is seriously incredible. I love it all so very much. I am so happy y'all have enjoyed my fics so far and am excited to watch as this community and fanbase grows more overtime! MwaH!

Vincent pov (as usual):

Anxiety and depression, the sinister siblings. They have impacted history and have proven to be more murderous than the weapons man has been able to craft. Anxiety pounds at your chest and crawls under your skin causing panic and fear. Depression weighs you down, makes you numb and questioning. No matter what you do they continue to be by your side. The bully that you can not see unless you are to look in the mirror and see them within you.

That is one of the main reasons my room houses only one mirror. Big enough for reference but easily movable if I am no longer able to stand the constant state of the two within me. Just like the original Van Gogh I have handled the presence in a rather unhealthy way. A few years ago I cut my ear off. Not because I really wanted to though. I just thought that maybe, I don’t know, it would make me more like him.

Each clone battles the same reality, we are not necessarily unique. We act different, have different thoughts and dreams (that we know of anyway), and are in an entirely new world. However, we look just like them. Our voices are theirs even if the meaning has changed. There is a level of expectation associated with being clones. You are expected to have the same qualities and talent they had. I did not.

My painting skills were not improving and I knew Principal Scudworth was taking note of it with each painting that was hung up in the school hallway. I was taught that many historical artists were inspired by pain and misery fueled by their drive to complete their masterpieces. So, I did what I thought would be my breath through inspiration. I cut my ear off. Spent the next few months in and out of the hospital and was forced to see a psychiatrist. My paintings improved, but only slightly. 

School sucks, always has and always will. At first people were apologetic and considerate of my pain. However, soon they turned to insults and relentlessly teased me. At one point during art I had overheard some girl whisper to her friends that they believe I wear long sleeves to hide my marks. I did not understand what she meant by that. So, like most teens, I googled it. I dropped my phone in shock. 

Mumbling apologies, I grabbed my phone off the floor and hid behind my canvas. I read every article on the first page. Each begging for you not to partake in such activities and providing resources for those already battling with self-harm. I read the different ways to self-harm, purposeful malnourished, using sharp objects to puncture, putting yourself at risk with careless actions, the list was rather long but two words stuck out. Anxiety and depression. Of course, the sinister siblings have some hand in this.

I cleared my search history and decided to ignore the topic. A few days passed and I realized coldly, I can not ignore it. My perception of simple things became twisted. My knife at dinner, the razor gliding over my stubble, even the view from my window looks just high enough. It was a little scary. It was a little exciting too. 

After an exceptionally rough day I came home flustered and tired. I went to the bathroom subconsciously and undressed. I saw myself in the mirror. Short, skinny, red hair ablaze over porcelain skin, and a face that I only could gag at. I unwrapped my ear and looked over the healing wound. They did a great job cleaning it up, only red scarring and a small hole remained. Smooth aside from the raised red marks. Those marks started it all.

Before I even knew what was happening I had grabbed my razor and smashed it upon the counter sending bits of plastic and blades flying. I picked up the blades. Four of them. I hid three under the sink in the very back so no one would discover their being there. I turned on the shower and sat on the tub's rim. My body trembled. 

I was hesitant to move. I glared at my left wrist then cast downward toward my thighs. No one would see them there. I battled over this for a good while. What if someone found out? Well, I have already cut my ear off, so people should already expect this. That girl did. Excitement bristled throughout my body. I remember tears falling but I was not sad. 

I cut.

The long line on my right thigh began to darken with crimson pearls. It stung terribly. I found satisfaction in it. I even marveled at the coloring. I later attempted to create the color in paint. From then on the outlet was a weekly occurrence. I made sure to clean the wounds and make it to where my foster mom doesn't expect anything. I am sure she already did though. 

As things became more troublesome at school I found myself harming more often. Some weeks daily. After a year my thigh no longer worked as a canvas, so I switched to my wrist. It wasn’t much different, only added a level of risk to each slide of the blade. I bought longer hoodies and sweaters. I wrapped them just to be certain my secret would not be revealed. It was, to me, an outlet that I needed. 

My paintings improved. Not great, but closer.

Eventually I found a good balance, a schedule really. Every couple days I would add to the canvas, clean them up, and carry on. A couple years passed since I first started and nothing really changed. My pals didn’t really notice. It wasn’t unusual for me to be depressy or wear the clothing I did so I don’t blame them. Plus, they all have issues of their own to handle. 

I was questioned by Mr. Sheepman once. He looked saddened and concerned as he sat with me prompting more conversation on the topic but I left as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Abe walking in covered in some who knows what goop was just the right moment to slip away. The singular good thing about Abe, is that he makes a great distraction. 

The concern and care always returned to Mr. Sheepmans eyes whenever he spoke to me in school. I hated it. I wanted people to care. I wanted to be cherished and loved, but not because of this! It wasn’t like I had no control in the matter. I could stop, just, had not wanted to.

The fact became apparent within the first week of holding back from the unhealthy coping mechanism that I, in reality, had no control. My skin felt like it was on fire. Bugs crawled under my skin. I had to keep moving and my anxiety flared bursting into a large flame consuming me. I made it ten days before I had to find that release. It was embarrassing and most of all worrying. 

Upon the discovery that I had much less control than I had previously expected I realized that I really do need help. My foster mom was the first I told. She burst into tears and held me for what felt like hours. She never asked to see the wounds, only asked for the blade. I gave her my main blade and insisted I didn’t have any more. She did not believe me for a second. I gave her two more, leaving one tucked away for a rainy day. I couldn’t part with it. 

I really am in deep. 

My therapist wasn’t surprised but she was still upset for me. She cared after all. We started to work on healthier coping strategies and management of the sinister siblings. Honestly, it worked wonders. It took time and a great deal of patience but, I was down to harming only a few times a month. Instead of infatuation I looked at my scars with disgust. They were red and shaped hills on my skin. They would fade but, never completely will I be rid of them. The price of my inspiration.

When I reached for the blade I became physically ill. Sobbing and nauseous. I could not stop myself from doing the damage. It was upsetting. I should be stronger than this! I am so close to being rid of this addiction and yet here I am blade in hand! I told my therapist that I felt this way during the next session. She said that is normal and that I should be proud of the progress I’ve made. I hold her words close, grasping to them during times of uncertainty. 

I have come a long way. A really long way. 

Then, JFK came into my life. 

At first he was like every other popular asshole. Everyone agreed that he was good looking but not the brightest cookie in the jar. He would whisper to me in class asking for notes or to catch him up on class discussion but that was the most of our interactions. The next semester he joined my art class. We became closer. Friends almost. If it wasn’t for Cleo that is. She always reeled him back. 

She would tell him that I was “bad for his image” and “not worth your time Johnny baby.” I would become flustered and angered by her words. Over time I will admit that I fell for the hunk. Her words only solidified what I have been thinking about. I am not enough for him. I am not even enough for myself.

Then out of nowhere we grew significantly closer. JFK asked me to go on a hike with him, to paint the view of course. Soon after that we started hanging out in secret. I would wake up to messages from him and would call every night. Cleo glared at school but never said anything. I can’t imagine what JFK said to make her stop but, I wish I knew what it was. 

In fact, most of the usual bullying stopped completely. I felt like I was on top of the world! I was able to go to school and actually semi enjoy it. I could eat lunch wherever I wanted and do what I wanted without being embarrassed by my peers. I admit it was a little lonely though. When the shrew crew found out about my newfound friendship with JFK they kinda drifted away. I wasn’t invited to things and they hardly acknowledged my presence when I was there. It hurt. 

Cleo and JFK had a huge fight. The word was spreading the halls like oil slicking the ocean's surface. I was walking to english when Joan rushed toward me. She looked over my head and then back at my face. I was about to turn and look at what caught her attention but she spoke quickly ushering me toward the exit door “you should head home Gogh, you look a little ill.” 

I tried to speak but she was much stronger than me and it took all my strength not to fall as she pushed me through the doors. I stumbled onto the sidewalk and turned to tell her she was being ridiculous and that she'll make me late for class but, her eyes were full of concern. They silenced my protest instantly. 

“Please Vincent. Uh, JFK broke up with Cleo. He came out to everyone, said he was bi and that he had found someone better for him. It was a messy exchange of words and well . . . I don’t want Cleo taking her anger out on you.” She looked down scuffing her shoe on the concrete. 

Wait, what? JFK broke up with- he’s bi- he’s in love- oh my god. Joan gestured for me to skedaddle and went back inside. I watched the door close and stared at my reflection in the window. I can see the two within my eyes. My skin burns and my wrist tingles at the notion of what was most likely to come. 

I turn and run. 

I ran as fast as I could. Backpack rising and crashing down like cliff side waves with each step. My heart pounding in my chest. I felt like I was melting. I coughed, unable to breathe but I didn’t stop. I dropped my key twice trying to unlock the front door. My breathing was quick and uneven. A panic attack, great. I threw my bag to the side carelessly and made my way upstairs and to the bathroom. Mom was at work until four. It wasn’t even eleven yet. 

I grabbed the blade from its under the sink settlement and went through the usual motions. I took off my hoodie and rolled up my sleeve. I rubbed the scarred skin, it was calming. I closed my eyes and rubbed slowly trying to even my breathing. To focus on something else until I was rid of the urges. It didn’t work. I sighed deeply looking downward. 

I ran the blade across a healed line. It doesn’t make me ill. Not this time. This time was different because I deserve this. Cleo hated the friendship John and I had. I am to be blamed for their constant arguing. Plus, John is in love with someone. It isn’t me. I know it isn’t. I think back to the tired face that I saw in the window and laugh sourly. No, it will never be me.

John never met with me in public. No one even knew we were friends besides a handful of people. They didn’t know about the endless conversations and late night movie marathons. He wanted it to be that way because- because I embarrass him. Cleo was right all along. 

Salted tears fall from my eyes and my bottom lip is wobbling as I add another line. Then another, and another. I have always only done a few cuts. Never exceeding eight of nine but, dammit I need it. I deserve it!

I lost my closest friends. Slice. I was cocky. Slice. I caused Cleo annoyance. Slice. Cut. I destroyed their relationship. Slice. I embarrassed John. Slice, slice, slice. I’m certain I fucked with whatever relationship John has with his new love. Slice. He deserves to be happy, I will not ruin another relationship for him.

My mom is always worried about money. She is always supporting my academics, buying me painting supplies, and whatever I want but, never buying anything for herself. I am an awful son. I was okay with losing my best friends because it removed a few bully's from my shoulders, what the fuck is wrong with me! I scare my teachers and fill a session time that could be used for someone better than me. I cause nothing but pain and sorrow for everyone I love. 

I’m tired. I don’t want to hurt anyone anymore. 

I’m done.

The world freezes.

Am- am I going to? No, I can’t. Well, I can. I am able to. It would save a lot of people the hassle of knowing me. Mom could foster another child. I can’t do no harm once I am no longer here to do it. There are plenty of artists at school. I am leaving art to be remembered. I am following in my father's footsteps. 

Of course, it all makes sense now! I have to die from suicide! Just as he did! I have to die for my art to be valued, that's the rule of thumb for any artist!

I stand from the tub and walk to my room. I pack everything neatly into boxes, most addressed to go to charity. I stack my paintings neatly on my bed, making certain each has been signed. My room is cleared so I gather the rest of my belongings from around the house. I throw away the tests hung on the fridge and remove almost every reminder of my existence from the cream colored walls and picture frames. 

Mom doesn't need to dwell when I am gone. Unhealthy reminders should be avoided. My therapist told me that. 

Ironic that even as I am minutes from ending it all I hold her words close to my heart. I wonder if she will mourn my loss or simply accept the defeat and move on. All I am is a patient after all. Another paycheck for her to blow at Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

I realize that I am almost ready. I feel unsteady. My body is in a buzzing state, low and numbing. I need to leave some form of explanation so I grab a notebook from my backpack. Mr. Sheepmans notebook. No. I can’t stop now. The clock on my nightstand shows boldly that it is a quarter past one. I need to hurry up. 

I write my apologies, hinting at my reasons for what I am about to do but, doing so in a way that will make it all easier. I emphasize my wishes for everyone to move on quickly. Pretend I was never there. Focus on the real Vincent van Gogh, not the imitation. 

The note is folded neatly and taped to the front door. I made sure to add a little message on the front so that whoever finds it doesn’t just walk in. 

“Call 911, do not go inside.” Good enough.

I slowly walk back to the bathroom. I grasp at the rail as I walk up the hardwood stairs. I never realized how much dust had accumulated in the cracks. I change into leggings, easy to remove, and a grey hoodie. I pull the sleeves up to my elbows. I look up into the mirror clutching the counter. The sinister siblings were there staring back at me. They have grown into matured murderous fiends. I will grant them their wish.

I lay down in the tub. I am just small enough to lay comfortably within the porcelain walls. The cold material easily goes through my clothing. A chill runs down my spine. There is still fresh blood dripping from the cuts I had made just an hour before. How do I do this?

Longways. Follow the vein. Right.

I take a deep breath in. 

Whoosh. The blade slides down. I cry out with a scream and bite down on the collar of the hoodie trying not to bring attention to the house. 

The broken blue vein bellowed with crimson liquid, almost black as it bubbled directly from the source. Oh my god. I squirm slightly, the burn and ache is unimaginable. Regret arrives abruptly. I need to stop, this is too much. No! I have to keep going dammit!

My mind was at war. I sliced again. A second strip added to the now growing river of my blood rushing down and dripping off the tip of my elbow. Blood seeped into my clothing and had now made it fully to the drain. The color was mesmerizing next to the bright white of the tub. 

I became nauseous and lightheaded. Black splotches danced in my field of vision like midnight moths fluttering around a streetlight. I set the blade down and laid myself so blood could flow much easier to my arm. It would be quicker that way. I was comfortable and tired. It’s over. I did it. A sad smile and tears came to my face and drifted out of consciousness. A soft whisper escaped my lips before darkness overtook me.

“ ‘m sorry mom . . . ‘m sorry John, I- I love you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep.

I can hear beeping and the distant sound of people. I try to open my eyes. A bright light blinds me making me close me close them tight. My body is aching. The pain in my shoulders and neck are unruly. I try to move my arms to rub away some of the soreness. My entire left arm flares in protest. I groan lightly, it was the best I could let out. 

I must be on something. Wait, where am I?

There is movement on both sides of me, I want to pull away in defense but I am unable to. There is a long squeaking sound as the bright light disappears. I try again to open my eyes. They are severely dry. They refuse to focus on the blobs of color around me. My ears begin to buzz. A white noise overtaking everything. I could see the blobs were moving, speaking? But I am unable to make out what they are saying.

I try to move again. Sit up, just do something. My neck pops and my head falls limply back onto the pillow from the pain it caused. Jesus, I am in so much pain. Burning tears build in my eyes and I am momentarily grateful for the moisture.

Something warm grabs my right hand and my head falls slightly to try and see what it was. I can see red. Not the terrifying crimson red. A softer red, comforting. It’s familiar but, I can’t put my finger on it. 

I fall asleep, comforted by the reds' companionship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wake up normally. No bright light and the sharp pains were gone. I looked around me and realize that I’m in a hospital room. There is a TV mounted on the wall by the door playing some fixer upper show and the lights are almost all off. There are no outside windows so I am unsure of the time but a small window facing the hall has its blinds open just enough for the light to come through. I see a few shadows walk by. 

I look to my left and see a chair empty for the most part. A pale pink purse sat on the cushion. Mom. It was mom's purse. She isn’t here but, she isn’t far.

I look now to my right and see someone pulled close to my bed, head resting on the mattress holding my hand. Brown frizzy hair and a red shirt was all I could really make out from the position I was in.

John . . . 

He is snoring softly. I desperately want to reach over and touch his hair but my left arm reminds me of what I had so blindly forgotten. Why I am here. I had attempted to die from suicide. I lived. How? I look back at John. Mom would not have been able to make it in time which means- John must have found me. He is the only other person besides mom and myself who has a key. 

Oh. That means he saw everything. He had to grab my motionless bloodied body from the tub while calling for help just . . . just as he had with Ponce. 

Tears are falling from my eyes as I realize my horrid mistake. I forgot about Ponce. John lost his lifelong best friend freshman year. It was worse when you realize that John was the one who found him. Like he found me. I think about what must have been racing through his mind when he discovered me. 

I want to vomit.

I squeeze his back ever so slightly. The hand is large and rough, callused from football and opposite of my small smooth hand. He startled awake the second I squeezed, whipping his head around the room before settling his eyes on mine. Those bright blue eyes look into mine with so much emotion. I watch as they begin to pool with tears. He blinks, tears falling freely, and squeezes back adding with other hand, nestling mine between his. 

He laughs a little, a smile wide across his face. His body shifts as he moves around, probably anxious or excited. I copy his smile. It felt good. Just us. I was safe. Alive.

I close my eyes and frown. “I-*cough* I’m sorry John.”

“It's, er uh, okay. I mean . . . no it is NOT okay but, I, uh . . . I am happy you're alive vinnie. I was so scared. I went looking for you after, uh, Cleo and I had a fight. I was worried she would cause, uh, some trouble. I couldn’t find you anywhere. Joan said you went home early when I, er uh, asked during fifth period. I was worried so I left early to head to, uh, your place. I . . . I read the note on the door. I was so afraid. When I, er, found you I- I thought you were-” He started to sob. He shook tremendously as he stuttered trying to hold his composure but failing. 

I try to pull him but I have so little strength it is nothing more than a tug. Luckily, he seems to read my eyes to hear my unspoken request. He stands up and leans over me, engulfing me in a hug. He sits down on the mattress and tucks his face into my hair. I nestle myself into his chest. He is stinky. Must not have showered in a bit. Cna;t say I blame him. I keep apologizing. I feel terrible. I feel weak and foolish. He just whispers reassurances and jokes to make me feel better. 

God I love him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I spent a few weeks in the hospital. Mom was a mess but John had comforted her through most of it. I still apologize even though everyone told me it was unnecessary. When I was finally home John and mom hovered around me at all times. A bunch of ‘get well soon’ cards from my peers were on the table. I ignored them. 

John spent the night every single night. It was wild. 

Everything I could use to harm myself was removed from the house or locked away. I had scheduled meals and was under constant supervision. It had to be this way for a while. I knew that, but it became annoying after the first month. I deserved it though, so I suffered through it. It made them feel better and that was what mattered. 

John would go to school and return as soon as the final bell dismissed him. He would text me every twenty minutes and if I didn’t respond within his set time he would rush back to check on me. Mom was the same way. 

John became very touchy feely after the incident. He was always touching me in some way. An arm around the shoulder, fingers through my hair, full on snuggling with me at night. It felt so normal. I tried not to think about it too much. I didn’t want him to think I was into him just because he saved my life. I didn’t want to make it weird between us. Well, more weird.

I was doing the dishes when it hit me. Who was John in love with? If he was in love then he shouldn’t be here! He needs to be taking them on dates and doing all the things we’ve been doing! 

Later that night, while we were watching Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, I decided to ask him. 

“Hey, John?’

“-er un, yeah Vinnie, whats up?” He shoveled a handful of popcorn into his mouth. 

“ . . . Who- who are you in love with?” I toy with the blanket draped on my lap refusing to look at him.

I heard him cough like he had swallowed a kernel wrong. He moved and I knew he was facing me full on. 

“What?”

I look over at him, the TV being the only source of light. “The day everything happened . . . you told the school you found someone better and that you loved them. I- I don’t want to ruin anything you have with them. I am so thankful for everything you've done for me but, you need to focus on who is most important to you.” 

He blinks back at me a few times. Then, he starts laughing! He is practically rolling on the floor laughing! I just stare dumbfounded. What was so funny? 

“John? Oh- stop it!” He leans toward me, the top of his head rests on my shoulder, still laughing. “John, I am serious!” I place my hand on his shoulder. He sits up, now a mere five inches from me. 

He looks down at me. His eyes are twinkling, a soft rosey blush spreads across his cheeks, and that damned smile showing his perfect teeth. “Vinnie- Vincent. You’re, uh, serious?” He cocks a brow at me. 

I nod, slightly frustrated by his finding this situation humorous. 

He shakes his head laughing. He sets his hand on my waist and pulls me flush against him. He cups the back of my head with the other hand and I look straight up at him. I am significantly smaller than he is. I try to smile, my cheeks and the tips of my ears on fire. 

“Vinnie.” He whispers to me. “You, er, are supposed to be the smart one here!” He chuckles softly, messaging my neck with his fingers. 

I almost moan at the sensation. 

We stare at each other, our eyes half lidded and wanting. 

“Vincent van Gogh, I am in love with you.” 

I gasp slightly letting his words sink in. My body is on fire but, in a good way. A very good way. 

I smile, tears brimming my eyes. “I- oh my god John, I love you so much.” 

We both laugh lovingly. He leans down and our foreheads touch. I wrapped my arms around him tightly enjoying his warmth and touch. He pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes before leaning down deeper in, head tilted to the side. I met him halfway.

Our lips molded together perfectly. I rested a hand on his chest and he pulled my head back slightly by my hair. I moan into the kiss opening my mouth enough for him to take my bottom lip to bite and suck on. 

I squirmed, obviously wanting more. I am certain his body wanted just the same but, as we pulled apart and looked at each other we both knew now was not the time. In the future it may be, maybe even the near future. 

Smiles cemented on both our faces as he pulled me to sit between his legs while he sat back on the chair of the couch. I laid on my side listening to his heartbeat. 

You see, life sucks. Always has and always will. However, not everything is lost. I will continue to battle with my mind. I will more than likely harm again. I am proud of where I am, who I am with, and know that these things take patience. With the support of my mom and the love of my life, I have a pretty good feeling that everything will turn out as I dream it to.


	4. Personal Update!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just needed to touch base with everyone really quick!

Hey everyone! I hope everything is well and that you have been enjoying not only my content but the incredible content other creators have been working on! 

I just wanted to let everyone know that I will have an update by no later then Saturday the 3rd! 

I have been swormed with school work and leadership responsibilities. I also have been in a rather low state of mind recently and I-. . . will not bother you guys with anything. I just need a little extra time to write something that will be enjoyable and not half done. 

This next update will be a smut! I have two ideas so, possibly the next two updates will be! 

As always, if you have any requests, comments, or concerns please let me know! You may follow on me on Instagram (@bippity_boppity_cinnabonnie) and directly message with me or you are able to comment on this work! 

Thank you guys so so so much for your support and love of my work! Your creative comments are the highlight of my day! And to the pals I have made already from this fic, I love you guys! And to all the upcoming friends, I love you all to! 

Warmest wishes,   
-Bonnie!


	5. Seasonal Depression (SMUT)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent has been enjoying the changing of the seasons but, he feels as though he is missing a key part of it. 
> 
> Basically, the boys are like 25 and married. They share a home together and have everyday jobs. Honestly, I went way into detail about it. Jack has been working a lot and Vincent feels deprived of love. Things turn smutty at the end! *you have been warned*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I am not dead (yet) so here is the long awaited update! I seriously apologize a million times over for the lack of activity these past weeks. Life has been a challenge and honestly, I did not know if I would be here to finish this chapter but, here I am! Woot woot!
> 
> As the title says, THIS IS A SMUT! Smut as is SEX! Lemon~ if you will. 
> 
> If you do not like smut, don't read. This is also a M/M fic so, it is detailed accordingly.

Third Person Pov:

It was a cold autumn evening in late October. Halloween decorations are scattered around the neighborhood and bright colored leaves paint the sidewalks. Children are running up and down the road playing games and crunching the biggest leaves they can find while parents watch from their porches chatting with friends over coffee. The scene was right out of a movie. 

Vincent is perched in the window seat built in wrapped up tight in a soft green blanket sipping hot chocolate from a large cat print mug watching the scene with a soft smile. He always adored this time of year. He specifically enjoyed the colors and scenes like the one before him now. As an artist the picturesque autumn meant endless inspiration. Which, in all honesty, he needed right now. 

While the clones were in university the government released a public statement announcing their existence. The world was in shock and became outraged over the news. Protests and riots erupted and two sides surfaced. Those who were mad at the government and those who were not. Luckily, no one seemed to be outraged by the clones themselves. Most seemed sorry for the poor souls having to grow up being lab rats to the government. Of course a few groups still felt uneasy about their existence and have never ceased their fight in segregating clones from the rest of the populous; however, it was unlikely they would ever succeed.

The clones graduated and moved on to follow their passions. Using their clone parents' reputations made it easy for them to do so. Vincent was no exception. He moved into a light grey two story suburban house in Oregon. The house had a good sized shed in the backyard that was converted into an art studio and a huge back patio. Everything from the yard size to the three bedrooms made the house even more perfect, in Vincent's opinion. It was his dream home in every way. 

Especially with the red 50’s Chevy that just pulled into the drive. Not the car, though it was nice, but because of the man driving it. Jack. 

Did I forget to mention that while in university JFK and Vincent became best friends and slowly fell in love with each other? Oops, my bad. 

You see, John and Vincent decided to move in together after graduation. John became an English teacher at the local high school which everyone found surprising. Vincent knew better. John F. Kennedy loved to read and excelled in writing. His personality made him great at keeping students attention and making the creative process more enjoyable. Over the years John mellowed. He still flirts with everyone and is always the loudest voice in a crowd but, he is more content and at peace with himself then he used to be. 

As for Vincent, well, he paints. He found out rather quickly that a lot of people were willing to spend big bucks on a Van Gogh painting, even if it wasn’t from the original Van Gogh. He sold personally for a few years before establishing an online shop for people to browse and purchase his works from. Each painting is always under priced and affordable for practically any budget. Unless the buyer happens to be rich, then the prices triple and all the money earned goes straight to charity. Vincent still struggles with his mental health but, he is in a much better place now then he ever was growing up. 

They had developed a routine soon after moving. Jack would wake up before Vincent and start the coffee pot. Sometimes, depending on the importance of the day, he would make a large breakfast as well while listening to the 50’s rock ‘n’ roll station. Then he would gently wake Vincent with a kiss and murmurs of sweet nothings. They would eat and then jump into the shower together. The showers were always intimate as they washed and peppered each other with kisses. Warm and comforting. 

After a long shower the two would dress quickly and Vincent would send JFK off to work with a long kiss. Sometimes Vincent would head back to bed but, more times than not he would pour another cup of coffee and head out to the art shed to finish another painting. At noon he would take the bus downtown to meet Jack at their usual diner for lunch. He would be back home by around one. The rest of the day, besides dinner, was up in the air and varied from day to day. 

Jack made his way to the trunk and grabbed a small stack of papers, probably essays to grade. Vincent sat his mug down on the window seal and stood up, still wrapped in the blanket, and made his way to the front door. His fuzzy Halloween socks sliding on the beautiful light hardwood floors. He opened the door just as Jack was heading up the stairs. 

A large smile spread on both boys' faces and Jack leaned down to give Vincent a kiss. Vincent stood on his tippy toes to kiss back, grabbing Jack's work bag in the process. The two went into the office to the right of the doorway and set everything down. Vincent watched Jack put the stack of papers down on his keyboard, making sure he will remember to grade them as soon as possible. Jack turned his attention back to Vincent. 

He walked over to him and ran his hands up and down his blanket covered arms and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his waist. Vincent reached up and cupped Jacks cheeks. They shared a moment simply staring into each others eyes.

“I missed you today.” Vincent mumbled.

“You miss me everyday.” Jack said with a playful smirk.

Vincent happily sighs. “Yeah, you’re right. Today was different though.” He leaned his forehead on Jack’s chest. 

Jack frowned at Vincent's words. Vincent has been having more low days lately. At first they both assumed it was seasonal depression. After a few weeks it was obviously not that simple. Jack asked Vincent if he wanted to contact his therapist and resume sessions and Vincent denied. Ultimately, it was his choice. Not Jacks. 

Jack has been trying to find a reason for the sudden change of spirit but hasn't come up with anything. Whenever they talk about it Vincent either deflects the topic or says he doesn't know the real reasoning. John knows that isn't the truth but doesn't push. Today seems worse than usual. He hadn’t noticed upon arrival but Vincent looked tired and lost. As if he spent the entire day staring out the window in thought, which to be fair, is entirely possible. 

“Wanna er- talk about it?” Of course he won't.

“Nothing to talk about my bumblebee.” Vincent remained with his forehead to Jack’s chest. 

A few hours later, just after a good meal of chicken fried steak, the two laid on the couch together. Their limbs were tangled together. Vincent laying on Jack. They were watching some random cooking show. Vincent could care less. As long as he was with Jack, who was very invested in the funnel cake recipe, he was happy. Or, he tried to be. 

Vincent won’t say it but, something really has been bothering him as of late. To him the whole thing is embarrassing and selfish. Over the summer break the two love birds were always together. Wrapped up in their own little world day and night. Vincent even suspected Jack would propose by the end of July but, that wasn’t so. Vincent doesn’t really care for marriage theatrics anyway so that is not the issue. 

Jack’s hand moves slightly on his back, a simple flex of the fingers. Vincent almost whines at the motion. Yeah, it is dumb but, since school started last month Jack has been far too busy for anything physical. They still had their morning routine and enjoyed the majority of the evening together but Vincent would always go to bed alone while Jack stayed up grading papers and prepping for the next day. 

Jack is a passionate and proud man. Not the school fuck boy he used to be. Whenever him and Vincent made love it was long and detailed. The aftercare was always intimate and full of reassurance. Perhaps, that was what Vincent missed most. After an intense hour of being reminded who you belong to, how much they worship you, and most importantly them pleasuring you beyond belief they will care for you with such gentle and caring touch. 

Hm, and he wanted to be bent over and fucked so hard he will see stars. Vincent dick twitched at the thought of it and shifted slightly to hide it. Jack was too immersed in the tv to notice. Vincent couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

A frown cemented on Vincent's face as he continued to ponder the absence of physical intimacy within the sanctuary of his mind. Time must have passed because the next thing he knew a hand was grasping his shoulder and he was being slightly shaken. Vincent jumps moving upward to see what was happening. Jack was looking at him concerned, mouth agape. 

“Hey, I er uh, was trying to ask you something and you seemed spaced out. You started squeezing my side and-er you were shaking. I thought you were crying, ha, sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Even after years of being together Jack was worried about messing things up. Afraid of losing Vincent, if not in love, them to himself. Especially with Vincent's recent return to low Jack was terrified of the harming and attempts might be around the corner waiting to strike. 

Vincent knew this, the look on Jack's face said it all. 

“No! I’m sorry. I was spacing out. Didn’t mean to ignore you.” Vincent patted Jack's side he had squeezed and looked down at the coffee table avoiding eye contact. 

“My sunflower, please look at me for a moment.” Jack's voice is so soft as he sits up. 

Vincent moves back on his knees still on the couch. He looks up to meet the tender gaze of his love. God he loved that man. To Vincent Jack was the definition of perfection, the most beautiful work of art ever created. He loved every single bit of the kind amusing giant Even on the day Vincent dies he will still believe himself unworthy of this man's love.

Jack's eyebrows flew up in alarm before his face returned to the worried expression from before, this even more so. He reached for Vincent's face with both hands. Pulling him closer. Only when Jack’s warm hands touched his face did he realize the tears that had fallen there. They rested on one another's forehead. Vincent hiccuped and the tears fell for a good ten minutes. Jack wiped them away murmuring sweet nothings all the while. 

When they pulled away Jack stood up. Vincent only was allowed a second of questioning before Jack scooped him up off the couch and carried him bridal style to their bedroom upstairs. Vincent pushed his face into the soft fabric of Jack's shirt, taking in the scent of his love. 

Jack gently laid Vincent on the bed. Walking to the other side of the bed he joined him. Above the covers they laid together, a mere foot between them, and they looked into each others eyes. Jack really wanted to beg for answers but he didn’t want to push, never. The unhappiness casting on Jack's face was all it took for Vincent to decide enough is enough. Time to confess.

Vincent sighed deeply looking down at his hand. “I . . . don’t know how to say this without it coming off as selfish or rude.” 

Jack shivered at the monotone sentence. What had he done wrong? Did he hurt Vincent? Was . . . was Vincent done with their relationship? Tears threatened to build in Jack’s eyes. 

“It’s okay. I love you. Whatever it is, I er, I am here.” John grabbed Vincent's hand making him look up at him once more. Time was slow and the air thick as John waited for Vincent to respond. 

“UGH! Okay, I know this is selfish and dumb, I am dumb, but I want to be fucked dammit! I know how much you love your job and that the grading and prep takes awhile but, I miss our nights shared in bed. I miss being held and loved. I miss being fucked and feeling the dull ache for days after, just for you to fuck me again never letting the ache truly go. I miss the cool down after the high when you’d clean me up and love on me. I know we still have sex but, it feels tired and quick. I just . . . I know it's selfish but I want you to love on me more. I want your attention. I -I . . .” Vincent lost his words as he tried to explain the feelings revolving around his mind. He was looking everywhere but at John while finicking with his sleeves. 

John didn’t say anything. Vincent’s skin crawled in anticipation. 

Suddenly, Vincent was pinned on his back across the bed. Arms above his head and a knee between his legs. He gasped in surprise, looking up at Jack who had a huge smirk on his face. There was relief in his dark blue eyes. Vincent giggled softly. 

“You know-” Jack started, leaning down to kiss Vincent's neck “you really should have er- just asked baby boy.” Vincent squirmed as Jack bit down on a sensitive spot, a high whine passing his lips. Jack chuckles in response.

One hand holds Vincent's hands above his head while the other travels down his body. He rubs, squeezes, and tickles everywhere he can. Skilled hands remove Vincent’s sweater in a snap. The man beneath him is putty, floating in a long awaited ecstasy. 

Jack sat up slightly, his eyes roaming the naked expanse of his lover. To Vincent he looks like a predator perched over his prey. Fuck, he loved it. 

“Ngh, John, I- *panting* I- want you to-” Vincent is practically mumbling nonsense but Jack is listening to every single word, drinking in the sight and thinking through his goal. Vincent’s needs have been neglected. He has been neglecting them. His goal: Fuck Vincent until he cums in every way imaginable. Jack smirks at the thought. 

“What baby? What do you need? What do you want?” Jack rubs his hand over Vincent’s tummy, waiting for the squirming man to steady himself. 

“I- . . . I want you to fuck me, please . . . sir. But I . . . I don’t want to trouble you though.” Vincent looks up at Jack, he tenses and slips out of subspace at the last part. Genuine worry on his face makes Jack sick to his stomach. His baby boy feels unimportant. 

Thinking more about it, he really has been putting Vincent second lately. When school started Jack devoted almost three hours every night grading and preparing for the following day. Even on the weekends he was always attending teacher meetings and shopping for extra supplies. All the while, Vincent sat at home, alone, all day. Jack doesn’t even remember actually seeing any of the paintings Vincent has been working on. 

Jack frowns deeply for a long moment before taking a deep breath. He leans down and kisses Vincent softly. When they pull apart Jack mumbles an apology. He continues to apologize as he kisses Vincent’s nose, cheeks, brow, forehead, down his neck, chest, and belly. Vincent tries to speak but he can’t find his voice. 

Jack looks up at Vincent, chin on his belt. “I love you Vincent. I am so so so so sorry. You are so fucking perfect and I -er worship every bit of you. I shouldn't have been so -uh negligent of your needs. No, don’t shake your head. I -er mean it!” Jack grabs Vincent's love handles, hard, Vincent moans in response. 

A burst of energy fills Jack. “Now you listen here baby boy.” Jack's voice is low, almost a growl. “I am going to suck your pretty little cock until you cum, for the first time. Then I am going to fuck you so hard your thighs are quaking and your throat is raw from screaming my name. We’ll -er play a little game called how many times will Vinnie cum. I want that pink prick to be exhausted by the time I carry you to the bath.” Jack smirked at the bright flush that had spread over Vincent's body. Vincent was twitching and already panting. Both men were hard. 

Jack undressed himself and finished taking off Vincent's clothing. The two spent a solid twenty minutes licking into each other's mouths and caressing each other's bodies. Jack’s hand traveled to Vincent's left nipple and pinched the sensitive peak. Vincent moaned deliciously, Jack felt the vibration on his tongue and moaned in return. 

They pulled apart, a string of saliva connecting them. Vincent was a mess. Completely immersed in his subspace. “Fuck baby boy, you look so gorgeous.” Jack coos.

Jack leaned down and sucked a few hickies along his baby boy’s collar. His large hand travels to Vincent's ass, squeezing hard making Vincent groan, arching his back slightly off the bed. Jack continues to rub and grab at his cheeks whilst his tongue swirls deliciously around already perk nipples. 

This went on for what felt like hours to poor Vincent whose cock was leaking and painfully hard, Jack was not any better. Vincent's hips snapped up attempting to receive any form of friction from his husband. The large hand previously cupping his ass moved quickly, pushing his hips down to the bed. A frustrated groan left Vincent's throat, Jack only chuckled as he sat upright and reached for the nightstand. He pulled out the near empty bottle of lube and pushed Vincent’s legs up tucking his own knees aside Vincent’s ass cheeks. 

“Now baby boy, we are running low on lube so I will only be able to fuck you deep once tonight okay?” Jack asks as he coats his fingers with what was left in the tube and rubs them together to warm it. Vincent flutters his eyes at his love, trying desperately not to let his hips buckle at the stern passionate gaze he is receiving. 

“Oh, yes. Fuck me, please sir. As hard as you can.” Vincent tries to keep his voice level, he fails. 

Jack smirks at his boy before rubbing a finger around Vincent’s puckered hole. Vincent twitches moaning in response. Jack twirls his finger until gently easing into Vincent working in and out slowly. Though being done a million times Vincent still feels the dull pain as Jack enters a second finger in, spreading him wider. Vincent lets out a shaky moan and rocks his hips in time with Jack’s fingers. 

When Jack sees the pain leave Vincent's features he adds the third finger quickly, curling and stretching Vincent even further. He thrusts in as deep as he is able and finds the sweet spot he memorized long ago. Vincent practically screams, fists ball up the blanket to his side and the pillow above him. All the pain has been replaced with thick desire and the two look into each other eyes full of lust and need. Jack grunts moving himself into position just above his baby, his head just teasing the hole. 

“Fuck baby boy, look so good.” Jack kisses Vincent, sliding his tongue into his mouth and grabbing his hip with the hand that was not holding him up. Vincent is only able to moan in response, practically melting at the attention he was receiving. 

Jack eases himself into Vincent allowing for him to adjust to the large cock now submerged in his asshole. Vincent adjusts quickly and moans loudly as Jack begins to slide in and out gaining speed. Soon Jack was all but pounding into Vincent. 

The slick wet sound of the thrusting, the grunts and moans, the sweat shimmering on their skin. It was passionate. A work of primal desire, of natural art. Vincent looks down at where Jack’s cock is pounding into him. He memorizes the way Jack’s muscles flex with each thrust. He focuses on the freckles decorating his chest and cheeks. He looks at Jack's face. Eyes clenched together, mouth agape, brows furrowed. The low grunts escaping those bright sweat slickened lips. God, how he loved this man.

“-nrg, Jack. UH, SIR. Please I- . . . I.” Vincent tried to find the words but his body was in the midst of a symphony of feelings. Jack slowed, eyes opening but still lidded. 

“What is it baby boy.” He reaches up to hold Vincent’s cheek. Vincent leans into his touch closing his eyes and taking in his scent. “What do you want baby boy, what -er, do you need from me baby boy.” Jack’s voice was deep, almost raspy. 

Vincent opens his eyes and looks back to Jack once more, never leaning away from his hand. “Could you . . . could you compliment me please.” Vincent was soft and careful with his words. Nervous of the request, though he asks very rarely, Jack was still very much happy to comply. Vincent has been starved of this attention, he needs to be fucked, to be loved entirely. He has not been for a while and needs that reassurance. Dammit Jack was going to give him it.

“Of course baby boy, my beautiful baby boy.” Vincent sobs at the first compliment but Jack continues. “You are so fucking talented baby, a fucking genius. You are driven and daring. Your hair is so soft, the flames of my heart-” Jack thrusts harder and faster “You take my breath away baby boy. You know how many times I have had to palm myself under my desk while in the study just thinking about your body in the other room.” 

Vincent was moaning loudly, trying to hold on but knowing his climax was quickly approaching. “Please sir, i’m close.” 

“That’s it baby, cum for me. You are so sexy baby, so damn hot. You know how lucky I am to have you, to be able to fuck you. You are all mine baby boy. I love you.” Jack pounded relentlessly closing in on his own climax. 

Together they came. Vincent sprayed ribbons of pearl across his and Jack’s bellies. A couple thrusts later and Jack followed suit, cursing loudly and groaning as his body stiffened in release. Vincent melted into the bed. Sweat began to cool all too quickly as they caught their breath. 

Jack fell on top of Vincent, still inside him. Vincent’s face bunched in disgust at the sound of his cum squelching between them as Jack’s belly met his. Jack pulled out of Vincent and sat up shakily. He watched as a small stream of his own cum left the tight hole. Fuck. His dick twitched at the sight. 

He noticed Vincent staring at him with those big blue eyes and smiled at him. Jack leaned over and placed a soft kiss to Vincent’s forehead before standing up stretching to ease his tense muscles. A whine barley left Vincent’s lips before he was hushed by Jack who promptly scooped him into his arms bridal style. He was light enough that neither were really worried about Jack dropping him. Vincent nestled into the crook of Jack’s neck as he was taken to the bathroom just down the hall. 

Once safely settled in the vanity Jack ran the bath and together they climbed in. Vincent, of course, leaning back onto Jack’s chest and finding pure comfort in both being held and the heat of the water easing the aches of his body. 

Jack cleaned for the both of them, massaging in the strawberry shampoo and conditioner, sugar scrub exfoliating his arms and legs, Jack did it all as Vincent sat there allowing himself to be cared for. A smile graces both boys' faces and they each allowed themselves to be at peace for the moment. 

Reflecting on the events of night Jack realized something. “ Hey Vinnie baby, I -er, I am sorry.” Vincent stiffened a little before relaxing.

“ ‘s okay love, I’m sorry to. I know you’ve been busy. And I know I should have opened up sooner. Instead I confessed everything in a paint splatter.” He giggled at the memory. “ I mean, asking to be fucked in a slightly agitated conversation was not exactly how I should have confessed my emotions.” 

Jack laughed, pulling Vincent closer to himself, hands resting on Vincent’s belly. “I know baby, I love you. I hope you -er, know that I am always open to talk, even if I do have work to do. You are my number one Vincent. My everything and all. And I -er, won’t have the love of myself feeling unloved or unappreciated especially by me.”

A few tears threatened to spill from Vincent's eyes, one did. “I love you John, my Jack.” He put his hand over Jack’s, squeezing them.

“I love you Vincent, my baby boy.” 

With that the two enjoyed the rest of the evening together. Never leaving each other's side. The next day Jack scheduled several days off over the next few months and together they planned out more frequent date nights. Jack made sure to keep an eye on Vincent and gave him extra loves whenever he felt that beautiful smile failed to reach his eyes.


End file.
